Page 73 of Sweet Heart for the Bear

“Too many clothes,” she says, and grabs the hem of my shirt, pushing it up.

She’s so tiny she can’t quite reach, and I grin and finish the job, undressing quickly and joining her on the mattress.

I want to lick her from head to toe.

I want to swallow her sweet nectar right from the source.

Everything about her turns me on.

“I don’t know where to start,” I tell her.

I kneel between her splayed legs and smooth my hands over her shoulders and chest.

Pausing to cup and weigh her soft, ripe breasts, I moan at how good they feel in my palms. Her nipples get hard, their peaks bite into my skin.

Seeing how my touch affects her makes my cock even harder.

Next, I rub her sweet belly, and I’m careful not to tickle her.

I memorize the precise spot where her waist indents, then flare as I get to her rounded hips and fantastic ass. Then it’s down her legs to her shins and back up again.

Fuck, I love the way her skin gets so soft on her inner thighs.

Every inch of her is sublime. Every hill and valley, perfection.

I want to consume her. To stamp myself all over her.

I want to claim her. Again.

Fact is, I am ravenous for this woman.

Head over fucking heels for her.

And it is the best I have ever felt in my entire life.

“Start here,” she says, and tugs me closer.

Then her lips are on mine, and I can’t think anymore. Running on instinct now, and following her cues, I chase my mate’s pleasure as I worship her with my body.

“Please, Horace,” she begs, and I growl as I lick the spot where I already marked her.

“What do you need, Mate?” I ask, sliding my hand to her throat and tilting her head up so she has to look at me.

Her pupils are blown, and she is panting with need.

So fucking sexy.

So mine.

“I need you inside me. Please,” she says, and I am so there.

I flex my hips, and it's like my dick is a homing device programmed to find her g-spot. I push in and out. In and out.

Finding my rhythm, exploring her body. And I know when I slide against her internal bundle of nerves just right because my woman doesn’t just come for me—she detonates.

The symphony of our bodies slapping together is drowned out by the keening moan that slips from her lips, and I can’t help myself. I pound into her, reveling in the tight squeeze of her pussy around my shaft.

Then I come, painting her womb with my seed, marking her with my scent.

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